Love is a promise
by BasiliskRules
Summary: "I am not deleting my emotions. I don't care what happens. There was a time when I wasn't human. When I was forced not to love you. Never again." She grasps the withered, wrinkled hand in hers. "Together; or not at all". Death In Heaven, Nethersphere fic.
1. Nunquam Singularis

**Contains quotes from and references to Harry Potter and "The Cretan" by Dionysios Solomos.**

* * *

She stands hesitantly in the doorway.

_("Who has seen the one whose beauty hallows the Vale?")_

There he is.

.

("**No, not cremated, no."**

"_**Ah, good for you. Now-"**_

"_**No. Not 'now'. Nothing 'now'. First I need to see him"**_

"_**Well-"**_

"_**I'll do anything you want afterwards, but now, your bloody paperwork can wait. I know he's here".)**_

.

The elderly couple looks at each other for a moment of eternity.

_("She was but now before us, making haste; this way and that she looks and someone seeks")_

Then they spring into an embrace with a force and speed that tramps on their white hair and wrinkles and seems to recall a wild youthful energy, now long since gone.

They lose themselves into it, cling onto each other like it's the end of the world. It is, in a way.

"How long? How long for you?"

"Five years", she chokes out. "For you?"

_**.**_

_**(Hm, there's a deep bond here, keeps asking about her. Plus, one hell of a willpower. **_

_**Better not make the offer yet, he probably won't accept…But there's always the "watching the poor loved one suffer" card. **_

_**Still, could be problematic…Meh, one in a thousand, who cares! **_

_**Ah, he's one of**_** his **_**friends, isn't he?**_

_**Oh, what the hell, let's have some fun. Put him in stasis. Let him wait; I know his type.**_

**Definitely**_** the "poor loved ones" card.**_

_**Oh, and –ha! - let him not accept! That will be just delicious!**_

_**Leave you to it….)**_

.

"I…I don't know. Feels like a day".

* * *

**OoO**

* * *

"So…so we are both dead now".

"Yep".

"Oh, God…"

"It's alright". She glares at him. "Okay, it is not alright, but…"

Sit down together on the sofa, look out the window at the colorful darkness. Stroke her arm soothingly.

"Someone I greatly I admire once said: 'To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.'"

A smile.

"Now you are just looking for an excuse to quote Dumbledore."

A chuckle.

"Yeah, I know".

"You should have grown a beard. You'd look wise and all".

"Did that once, in the 70s, looks rubbish!"

"I know!"

* * *

**OoO**

* * *

She's angry. Great.

"I think you were a bit hard on the man. He is only doing his job".

"With what he said? I let him off nicely."

"You- you didn't have to go all _Scottish _on him…"

She turns and faces him, grabbing his hand, says his name slowly and deliberately.

"I-I don't like this. I have a bad feeling about this place".

"I know but-"

"But 'it's only a feeling?'"

"…Yeah".

"And you have it too". She smiles just a little. Because of course he does.

_(There was a time, years ago and years ahead, when they would risk the whole world on that feeling:_

"_Glorious, precious, amazing human instincts!" Wildly gesticulating hands, now resting on each of their shoulders, intense green eyes leaning in close. "Always trust them, trust them only, if nothing else. 20 billion years worth of evolution, don't waste it!" A shrug and a nod to the smoking remains of a particularly vicious monster, lying nearby. "And, ah, well, since especially yours in particular always seem to be spot on…bravo! Keep at it, both of you, very cool!" A –relieved- hug and a smile. "Come along, next stop the moon of-")_

"Do you remember this?" she asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I'm sorry to bring it up, but you've died before. Do you remember _anything _about this place?"

He hesitates. He has never thought about it before.

"No".

"Well, doesn't this seem strange to you? Try to remember something, anything."

"I think…well, maybe a bit, I don't know…"

"Well? Only that?"

"Well," he blurts out, "I came back and those were really weird and special circumstances, suppose I wasn't really dead in the first place?"

The patented glare again. It has only gotten more searing with age. "Oh come on, that makes no sense. There would be _something._"

"So…what are you saying?"

"I'm saying you either went to some other place _or_ someone is screwing with your head".

"Maybe it's a natural process", he protests. "Maybe we are not meant to remember"

"Yes, but then wouldn't you immediately remember it completely when you came back here? And you don't. This doesn't seem _natural. _So you either never came here and you are forgetting the real thing because you are not there right now, which is bad, or…"

"What?"

She lowers her voice slightly.

"Or they are evil. Which is also bad. Obviously".

"Why-why would they be evil?"

"Well, the last people we encountered who were erasing people's memories weren't exactly saints now, were they?"

Well, when you put it like that…

"Okay, point taken." She nods.

"But. We still don't know if your theory's correct. It's only a theory. And I suck at metaphysics. And they are the only source we've got." She nods.

_(Oh, just a day, but her eyes, how he's missed them.)_

"Yes. But it doesn't hurt to be a bit suspicious of what they tell us."

"Okay. But I think I know why you want that. Because you _do_ _want _that" And he looks away with that wistful expression she remembers so well.

"Why?"

"It's the same whenever something weird happens."

"Why?"

"Because it reminds you of… those days." And now he's smiling kindly at her, the soft light folding back his years and it's as if his youth returns for only a moment. "It might be a trick. It might be aliens! Everything might not really be the way it seems. You still miss that sometimes, I know."

"Don't you?"

* * *

**OoO**

* * *

He storms out –as much as a reasonably healthy man in his eighties can- and she goes after him, catching up easily. He stops and faces her, that ancient lightning burning in his eyes.

"No. I'm not doing this."

"Ro-"

"I am not deleting my emotions. I don't care what happens."

She looks at the anguished, despairing face, frowning, darkened and creased with those emotions he so valued.

"Are you sure?"

"There _was_ a time when I wasn't human. When I was_ forced_ not to love you. Never again."

She grasps the withered, wrinkled hand in hers.

"Together; or not at all".

* * *

tbc...


	2. One More Day Before The Storm

They should feel pain.

Unless they are lying.

(Please, let them be lying).

Why would they lie?

How would rotting away feel like anyway?

Well, it usually takes time.

It is impossible to tell the time in this place. Or whether it even passes at all.

* * *

They wait in fear. They talk, they walk –never too far away, afraid of getting lost in this labyrinth and their bones are aching and weary- they look for a familiar face.

They find doors that hint at hidden dimensions and they once visit a seaside and a lush garden. Those places are only temporary, changing into forests and rocky deserts and mountains after a few hours, for some unknown purpose, and they have to leave.

They occasionally salute and make pointless small-talk with strangers when they see them.

(How did you die?)

Others –many- look at them blankly and they shudder. Not that. _Never_ that.

They go back to their room and the balcony near the office.

Repeatedly, an exceedingly polite offer is made.

They refuse.

They get used to the fear and the waiting and the not-passing time.

They've done it before.

.

They think of a daughter, they think of a certain Timelord who would be bored out of his wits by now and they laugh quietly, a memory of lazy, golden afternoons, a dream of spring long gone, stirring.

Thank God he isn't here.

_(What God- what God-what God?...)_

_._

They sit together at the balcony and are lulled to sleep –hesitantly, they don't know if they can do that here- by the soft sounds above and below.

_(They almost hope they will not wake)._

Light, uneasy, semi-aware sleep of the old and fearful and tired.

It's still rest.

* * *

The lights are going out. What is happening?

Darkness descends, obscuring his figure and she clutches his hand reassuringly.

Not that she's not afraid.

.

It's like he's falling down a deep, dark tunnel.

He feels like he's being torn apart.

"Am-"

He reaches for her hand and it's not there.


	3. In Memoriam

**Contains quotes from "The Ballad of Reading Gaol"****. And a song, but more on that later.**

* * *

_**/"A darkness will block out the sun…"/**_

_**.**_

The earth is suffocating even though she doesn't really need to breathe.

Her mind unwillingly flashes back to an adventure with Silurians so long, long ago. Earth swallowing her. The first time she lost him.

_(Raggedy Man, help.)_

She has to get out.

The metal parts the dirt easily.

Every single zombie movie she has ever seen runs through her head. And she would laugh if she _could_ laugh and if she wasn't this close to screaming.

.

He stumbles out, up and out.

"In loving memory…"

He drags his gaze away from the headstone and he catches a glimpse of silver.

Oh. Well, this makes sense, I suppose.

.

She is terrified.

She was right, of course she was right, and nobody's coming to save them this time.

And Hell is real too, apparently.

Still, he's here. At least she has that.

.

He can't bear to look at her like this.

Look anywhere, look at your hands.

Oh, oh help.

Don't panic. Deep breaths (you are not really breathing), close your eyes (you don't have eyes to close).

Think only of her.

.

His eyes are long since gone, -hers too no doubt- and still she hates, she wants to rip off the oppressive metal that hides, (_she can imagine that it hides_) that stubbornly beautiful green-blue.

How dare you, whoever you are.

How dare you.

.

Every second of not-breathing is agony.

And she's feeling it too.

Blissful, blissful oblivion is but a button away, and he can't do it, no matter how much he wants to.

How can he want that?

Say something to her, anything.

"Hey".

His own voice shocks him, ugly and utterly alien.

Of course he doesn't have vocal chords anymore.

.

"You look awful, stupidface"

She is not supposed to sound like that.

_(Anything to stop this, anything.)_

_(Can't.)_

Don't talk, reach out a hand.

.

He reaches back.

.

She can't feel his fingers. She can't feel anything, really.

Pain is all there is.

Some distraction, some comfort –she looks frantically around- please, something, anything…

There is a small, slender, beautiful tree right beside their upturned grave.

.

The colors are mesmerizing now that everything is grey, and starved, he lurches, stumbles, still unsteady, towards it.

Focus on that for a while.

.

It has a strange, smooth, light-colored bark, almost approaching gold. Dozens of small, twisting branches reach for the sky.

_(Out of his mouth a red, red rose! Out of his heart a white!)_

She didn't plant this. Who?

Flowers a dazzling shade of white, others purple. The leaves are orange.

It's like it's not of this world.

_Oh._

Why, why can't she cry?

.

He understands.

_Oh, thank you…_

And something swells in the heart that he doesn't have any more, a soothing caress of light:

.

_My experience is that there is, you know, __**surprisingly **__always hope._


	4. Above all shadows rides the Sun

**Contains many quotes from the amazing song "Hold Back The Night" by The Protomen (check it out) and a reference to Hamlet. **

* * *

They wait. What else can they do?

_(You know I hate repeats.)_

Don't we all?

.

The others around them are moving –more and more are emerging- and the graveyard fills with sounds of footsteps and breaking stone.

Daylight wanes.

_**.**_

_**/"There must…be an….end to…the darkness…"/**_

.

A new terror suddenly grips him as he struggles and writhes under the shadow. They are here in this nightmare. What for?

To conquer, to destroy, to make others like them. The living.

_(My father is out there, still alive. Funny thing, time-travel. At least I hope he is.)_

He'll self-destruct before he does that. Actually, he might want to do that anyway.

.

But then, she doesn't have to obey, does she? The small, small reward for this agony.

.

It's a relief. But still, there is no way he can prevent this even if he doesn't take part.

Dare he hope that there are others like them?

Ha!

Let's say there are: How many? And how could they tell?

And those clouds, now that he thinks about it, don't look good at all…

.

Still, could they try? They've been through worse than this.

_(Doctor, please do something.)_

Well, no, not really.

.

They just stand, waiting for the order in terrified horror and silence.

_._

_._

_**/"Someone's got to bring back the light"/**_

.

There is an imperceptible change in the world, in the silent mass around them.

There _is_ an order they barely receive and don't have to obey through their incomplete connection to the hive-mind. But it is not the one they expect.

.

The Cybermen around them start shooting up into the sky.

What has happened? Should they follow?

There will be fire. Perhaps they should.

_(To die, to sleep…)_

.

He sags forwards. He can't take this anymore. There, in the clouds, a promise of freedom.

But has the plan really changed?

What if this still somehow dooms the Earth?

Why should he care? Why should anything matter more than ending this?

He is almost ashamed at his thought. Almost.

And what difference would two Cybermen more or less make anyway?

.

What does Earth matter?

Does she have the right to deny him his rest?

She knows what he is thinking.

Then again, they could die here, on the ground, with a clear conscience. Why delay?

Here, in _this_ graveyard.

Oh, does Fate ever have a taste for irony…

.

.

There is a thought, a declaration that shoots through the hive-mind in desperate search for _something._

"Hello? If there are others out there…if there is anyone else who still feels…don't be afraid. Change of plans, boys and girls. Just-just help us do this. Trust me. We are saving this planet, all together. And thank you, thank you all."

.

_**/"Hold. Back. The. Night"/**_

.

Relief and Joy.

Relief and Hope.

.

He can imagine that she is smiling if he wants to.

_(Saving it! That's "good old days" for you!)_

And if he knows and wouldn't admit, that he'd choose to laugh out loud and dance if he could too, well, that's also his own damn business.

.

_**/"Now you'll stand just as long as they need you  
cause you're the only one that keeps it alive"/**_

.

Well. They have to catch up with the others.

Metal hand locks on metal hand. A nod.

"Geronimo!"

.

_**/"But I know a hero will come  
And the night, the night will be torn apart  
And I know he won't fight alone  
And the spark that we carry will turn the dark into  
A flame, a fire, a light"/**_

.

And if the scared New Yorkers weren't hiding in their houses, eyes glued to their TV screens in fearful anticipation, they might have noticed the silent army soaring through the heavens, into the clouds, and perhaps, among them, the two silver figures holding hands tightly, up to the last second before the fire.

* * *

tbc...


	5. Noli Timere Messorem

**Contains quotes from: "The Cretan" by Dionysios Solomos, Firefly, "Voices" by H.P Cavafy, "Travelling Man" by Chameleon Circuit, and "The Graveyard near the house" by The Airborne Toxic Event.**

* * *

_("Such power as this, have Love and Death alone.")_

_._

They are back.

(They woke together, thin fingers almost touching).

They sit there, white head leaning on white head, feeling the cold air on their faces.

Oh, it feels _amazing._

They wait.

(No, seriously.)

There is no fear, no anxiety lining their faces any more (only Time).

They've done everything they could possibly have. What happens next will be beyond their control, and that is a wonderful thing, just this once.

_(Take it out of my hands.)_

"Will we stay here forever?"

A shrug and a smile.

"It's not that bad". The lights flicker and he can see their reflection on the glass under the banister.

They are together.

_(That's not much.)_

_(It is enough.)_

.

They wait, blissfully uncaring.

How long? What is time in a place like this?

.

.

There is an announcement, explaining what happened to those who had chosen to delete, now free once more. That they were manipulated, deceived. That this is only a virtual reality, a hard drive for dying minds. That Earth is safe now.

Joy spreads under their skin, a balm like honey-combed sunlight. They saved it after all and they did so willingly.

"I _told _you it wasn't the real thing, that there was an evil plan involved!"

"Yeah, you did" he smiles back.

"We should have made a bet".

"I don't have any money!"

"You'll pay next time we go out for ice-cream".

"Deal".

.

The lights flicker and dim slightly.

.

He is slowly pacing up and down - leaning on the banister to rest every now and then- bored and cramped from sitting still for so long. He's old and tired though, and he sits back down again after a minute, close to her.

A sudden doubt.

"Wait…Does that mean that our souls are out there somewhere?" she asks. "The real us? A soul cannot be stored, cannot be captured, can it? Are we just-just copies?" (_Do souls even exist at all, anyway?)_

"Maybe this isn't how it works".

"Well, how does it work then?" He shrugs.

"I've been a copy before".

She looks at him. What if they are? What if they aren't? What does it matter, really?

"And you had the most beautiful soul I have ever seen", she whispers and he smiles, almost young.

"Alright, I promise not to shoot you this time".

"Still love you, don't worry", she says and winks mischievously.

_(Why would that ever make us anything less?)_

.

.

The lights dim some more. So does the sound.

Should they worry?

Well, it is a hard drive. Probably left unattended now by the bad guys.

Who probably have no use for it any more, or any reason to keep it going.

Besides, they are almost certainly dead.

(Wouldn't they be here then?

If this thing's theirs, they can probably come and go as they wish. Why would they stay in this place, or even Earth? Plans failed. I'd get the hell out of here.)

_And _if that's not enough, everyone got re-uploaded at the same time, with nobody to sort things out.

_("This place is dying now…")_

Oh.

Shutting down it is, then. What can you do.

.

Semi-darkness covers them and the sound is a now a low hum, strangely comforting.

.

"You think there's something else? If there are souls and all. You know, after"

_(So, so easy to cling to life now that she can see the beloved face, who cares if she's a copy)_

"I…I don't know."

"It's infuriating though. Always thought I'd die and finally, there would be an answer".

"What answer would you like?"

Now it's her turn to shrug.

"What if there's nothing after?" he asks her, gently.

_(There are many, many things that are worse than nothing)_

"Then all this would have been enough".

_(Worth it.) _

_(Shut up. Of course it was)._

_._

.

The darkness covers them completely for a while, the hum droning on. But now there are new sporadic lights, the strange buildings, objects and walls around them wavering and glowing slightly.

A faraway wall disappears in a ripple of colour and they see a huddled mass of people, looking out questioningly.

A blink and they are gone.

.

Really, it's nothing to be worried about. If you don't exist, you don't realise you are not existing. There is nothing of you to be conscious (_Copiesclonesmindssoulsechoes_) to be scared. Like a dreamless sleep.

After all, it is "Rest in peace", right?

At least it will be now.

(Finally)

(_Finally_)

.

"It's okay".

Smile and he smiles back.

.

See her like she was in the first poetry of their lives-

_("like music on still nights, far off, that wanes")_

Memories and copies and ghosts and fragments and digitized, dying light.

.

.

They are not sure they are sitting on the sofa –the sofa probably doesn't really exist anymore- and the dimensions around them are twisting and flickering and dying.

.

"_What do we do?"_

"_Be brave"._

_(They are always brave.)_

_(I can be brave for you)._

.

Their bodies are glowing and they embrace, they are sitting-standing-floating in the bright, bright darkness, the towering buildings blinking away, hovering now above and below the abyss.

Their minds drift, care and fear and thought itself falling away-

_(and this is how it ends)_

They lock eyes and they kiss against oblivion-

_._

_._

_You are an echo…_

_._

_I'm human! I'm not-I'm not!..._

_That's software talking. _

_I'm human!_

_If you say so._

_Trust me. _

_Giving you the days, the weeks, the years._

_We are talking about sacred life. Everybody clear on that? Everybody? Good._

_(Even if they have to die five hundred and seven times…)_

_Run! And remember me!_

…_always remember, when th-_

_A copy is just as real as the original._

_Well, you two would know, wouldn't you._

_(Just this once, everybody-)_

_Sing me to sleep, please._

_-Blue-sweet-bittersweet-sad eyes-smile of light-gone-dead-gone Child of Time-_

_For you a funeral hymn…_

_It's okay. The story was a good one._

_For you a gentle lullaby…_

_Now close the book._

_Not one line, I swear…_

_(And I'll defy every one and love you still.)_

.

…_Like all of us in the end_

.

.

The world dies, light and dark, and everything fades to white and everything is silence and everything is gone.


	6. Never seen by waking eyes

**You are lucky. Tomorrow I'll be busy, so you get two chapters today. Enjoy.**

**Contains quotes from "1793" by Victor Hugo, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and the poem "To Germany" by Charles Hamilton Sorley.**

* * *

.

There is a memory, the last memory of life -like all this never happened- peacefully dying on a bed, holding her hand.

(She hadn't wanted him to feel scared or lonely).

And yet it _happened._

.

.

She feels like a part of her is flying beyond space and time.

_Home._

_Sing and she sings back._

Go down the stairs

Love from above and peace for the peace-bringer

_(Oh, you've been lost and dead and gone and it's been years and years of nightmares)_

There is a golden glow and a beloved face,

_-still wearing that expression of thoughtful joy-_

Light and pain, death and life radiating from his eyes,

_Smile and reach out and he reaches back_

Sweet dreams

_("but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?")_

.

.

There is a voice.

_(Open your eyes)_

.

Gold and red and blue and green and yellow.

In the field and the sky and the whispering grass

and the sunflowers at their young feet

blink with wonder at the colour returned, at life restored, on his hair and on his face and on her hands

somehow changed yet still the same, youth pouring out, more beautiful than before

tangle your fingers –feel the bones that don't ache- in the brilliant orange-red, resting lightly on her shoulders and don't let go

_(Then we may view again, with new-won eyes each other's truer form)_

bright, bright eyes, shining with tears of joy

_(We'll grasp firm hands and laugh at the old pain)_

Breathe with me deeply and share the light scent of new, new, glorious morning.

.

.

But where was the voice-?

A light chuckle.

"You know, if they start kissing immediately, we'll be here all day. Not that I mind. PONDS!"

.

And their daughter is laughing, kind, kind face, her hair spun gold and silky sunlight, arm resting lightly on the old new borrowed blue door-

And they spin around just in time to get rammed into by a certain floppy-haired someone, who hugs them both so tight that they can barely breathe.

.

-the end-

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**

**First "proper" fanfic. What do you think?**


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